Sunday, April 17, 2011

Then, we were among the many friends and faces, wet-eyed, laughing and chatting with a see-you-soon ease. By death and slight of hand we became fewer until it was just I and my voices – of no standing and having a calendar only as something to carry in case.

But you came back to me this afternoon as you said you would. I could hear you speaking to me as I walked by the little park a few blocks from where we had lived. You with me and through you my mind opened onto a room where we all were together again, laughing and chomping delicate and exotic morsels, jesting with one another, drinking, forgetting everything we had promised to hold dear, passing through those moments as if we had centuries to spare.

I have no time to spare and I do not want to sleep through sounds like my boots thudding on uneven sidewalk or the sight of a single fall-reddened leaf hanging at the end of its bare branch, or Latin drums drifting from an upstairs window I-know-not-which-one, or a sweet kiss I can taste that helps me remember -

About these Poems

I was once driving in Sonoma and saw a series of fence posts that marked a field. The fence between these posts had long before fallen, but the posts remained to delineate a rancher's field. These poems likewise delineate a place, often unremarkable, where souls exist. By marking out a place that might otherwise go unnoticed, I want to draw attention to what is everywhere and all around us. I'm glad you stopped here. Thanks for reading and commenting on what you find. . .
Greg John